Good Intentions
by rain-days
Summary: A line from a book causes 17 year old Jonathan question his intentions of being a psychologist. Does he really want to help? Or just use the patients as a plaything? This is about that inner arguement of what is right, wrong, and justified. Oneshot.


_Author's Note: _"The Seven Evils of Life" Actually was in some book I had read. One of the seven evils that I added to the story WAS on the list, I just forgot what number. What's this fanfic based on? I'd like to be a psychologist sometime, but I've before had to question my intentions. I hope that it doesn't make me... questionable with... intentions... _Ahem_. I figured that Jonathan Crane would've HAD to had question himself at one point or another, right? Right. This is that time.

I'd really appreciate reviews. Honestly. Not that I'm trying to HINTHINT anything to you though... HINT.

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**GoodIntentions**

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"_**The Seven Evils of Life" **_

Was the title of the bold header in the random page he had flipped to. His eyes floated down the list in curiosity.

_Number Four: Entrapping the mind of others._

Jonathan Crane's piercing eyes glanced up to the bookshelf that he had pulled it from. The words were dwelling in his mind, in his thoughts. They were stirring into his mind, inflaming an inner argument. Voices rambling on and one, trying to speak over the other. The voices were trying to convince him that his intentions were pure.

He was not planning on being a psychologist just to entrap the mind of others. Not at all. He simply wanted to help them. The mind, above anything and everything else, was quite fascinating. Jonathan highly respected what control the mind had over the body. He respected it. RESPECTED. He'd never abuse the mind of another. No, never. Not even if they highly deserved it. He wouldn't entrap the mind of another. He wouldn't. Never. The mind was a fascinating thing.

The most fascinating, in his opinion. Every other student in his high-school psychology class knew of his interest with it. Actually, no, they didn't. They saw him reading a few pages of psychology books outside of class... They never saw him go to the University's library, though. They never saw him wandering about those seemingly endless shelves. They didn't know how he'd stand outside of Arkham Asylum, staring at it intently. They didn't know that Jonathan watched them in classes, in the halls, while they were in the company of friends. They didn't know he was trying to break down their every word, every movement. His peers simply knew that he was good at the class, that he was at the top of the class. They tease him every other time, but as soon as it comes to picking out a partner for a project in the class- suddenly he'd find himself getting glances from others with hopeful smiles. They were trying to ride along with him, with his fascination with the mind. They were only trying to get an A.

Jonathan shut the book hastily, shoving it back into the gap in the shelf. He wasn't dreaming of becoming a psychologist to trap the minds of others. Those WEREN'T his intentions. Those intentions would be sadistic and twisted. No. That wasn't Jonathan. Jonathan wanted to HELP those poor crazy patients of Arkham Asylum. Those poor freaks. Those freaky little... darlings. His darlings.

NO. Jonathan licked his lips and turned away from the bookshelf, walking up an aisle to the main entrance of the library. They were not in anyway DARLING. They were murderers and rapists and serial killers and... a few could even be called modern-day "Jack the Ripper"s. He wanted to help them. To reestablish them for society. Their minds were off-balanced. Messy childhoods. Chemical imbalances in the brain. Addiction to drugs. Family genetics. Jonathan wanted to get down to the bottom of the problems and solve them... even if screwing with their minds a bit more would be an interesting experiment. If that was his reason for being a psychologist– he too belonged in Arkham, but not as a doctor.. As a patient.

"Dr. Jonathan Crane", the name floated in his mind, hushing the agreement. "Dr. Jonathan Crane". His own plush office. A fancy home. Expensive shoes echoing along the old tiles of the asylum as he carried his expensive briefcase with him to visit with his patients. His patients. His darlings. "Dr. Jonathan Crane" engraved in gold, set on top of his polished desk in that plus office. How wonderful that would be.

By this time, he was too absorbed in his fantasy of being called "Doctor" that he forgot that he was walking down a hall. It wasn't a good idea. Before he could react, a large foot was stuck out in front of him and in the next moment– he was on the floor.

The larger boy gave a husky laugh, "_Scarecrow_? How was the _fall_?" The boys behind him laughed. Apparently, it had been a witty and clever pun. Jonathan only glared up at him though his glasses, biting his tongue back from replying to his jokes. No. His intentions were not evil. He didn't was to be a psychologist to play mind games with those crazies. He respected the mind's control over the body. 'Respected' being the key word. He would not abuse the power of a person's mind... even if others deserved it. Like... the boy that had just tripped him, for example...

Or... maybe he did. He preyed on those smaller than him. Preyed on the fearful. That was not right for a person to do in society. It would be the just thing if someone preyed on him in the near future... What goes around comes around, after all. Darwin's theory... Only the fittest survive. Strength eventually can be worn down easily, but knowledge... That can live for years. It can go on for decades and decades. Wisdom can be recorded in the books. Strength can be worn down by the mind, easily. Easily.

Jonathan Crane did NOT want to become a psychologist to entrap the mind of others. He just wanted to make sure they got their just rewards for their actions. In fact, a voice now argued in his mind, society would be _grateful_ for a thing like that. His intentions WERE good.

The mind had great control over the body. Jonathan Crane only wanted to _enforce_ that control. There was nothing dishonest about it. Nothing.


End file.
